


Death We've Always Been

by melanie1982



Category: Interview With the Vampire
Genre: Love, Lust, M/M, Rivalry, ridicfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25241131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: Louis had always been the brooding, romantic type. Humans had always been drawn to misery as entertainment and pain as recreation.In an ever-changing world, some things remain the same. Why not find a way to exploit mortals AND gain a creative outlet at the same time?Louis finds a new hobby/source of income, and Lestat.. is, well, Lestat.One-shot. Finished 7/13/2020
Relationships: louis/lestat
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

"But Death we are, and Death we've always been.."

How many times had that night at the Theatre des Vampires replayed in his mind?

Louis could still smell the audience's panoply of colognes and perfumes jostling for rank, still hear the lascivious susurrations of taffeta gowns and the snobbish snap of lace fans. Above all, he could sense the blood of that young girl, the only living member of a cast of the damned, her panic illuminating the stage as she fought for her life - unwitting, unwilling, irresistible. 

Her fear was cloyingly sweet, hitting the back of his throat even from that distance, as though he had been seated in the orchestra pit, and the fear a plume of smoke from a cheap magic trick. It was a morsel he could never quite swallow, nor bring himself to expel. Once in a blue moon, while taking from a victim or a lover, Louis would catch a faint hint of that sweetness, but, should he walk the world until the sun burned itself out and lost all power to destroy him, he knew he would never find its equal.

That night had been a turning point. Armand had shown his power - to mortals, yes, but mostly to the vampires in attendance - and Claudia had known what had before been her greatest, albeit unconfirmed, fear: Armand would never let Louis go, and she was no better poised to thwart his wishes than was the human on the stage.

Louis himself was given to writing: diaries, which he always buried or burned, alternating between secret confessions and sacrifice; poems; even songs. The events of his mortal life were dim, like a letter too often read, but he had managed to record them in a dramatized format before they slipped into the inky oblivion forever. Sometimes as he read, Louis felt quite detached from his own beginnings. Life had begun, truly begun, with Lestat's deadly kiss, and his life had only begun to mean anything the first time fledgling Claudia had embraced him as father.

Now, with those others all in the past, Louis had the germ of an idea, a way to express his grief and loss while providing entertainment value for his prey. Music was ever the thing, and many odd sentiments could be conveyed through song. There were entire genres dedicated to darker moods - sadness, angst, vengeance, lust, even violence. 

If Louis could tap into those rich veins of income, perhaps it would dilute his pain and temper his ennui.

Yes; his experiences, his sufferings, his regrets - all would provide ample fodder for this endeavor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis doesn't sing.

"I. Don't. Sing."

Louis had tried to argue with the man in multiple languages and syntaxes, had explained and protested and complained bitterly - all to no avail.

"Listen, bud, it's the best way to ensure you get the writing credit AND the money for the work. You sing it, however off-key you want, and it'll help prove it's YOUR work. YOUR work, YOUR payday."

Louis sighed.

"Very well. It's going to be the greatest travesty ever committed to tape, but, if it's the best way..."

Phil made a 'wrap it up' winding motion with his hand, then left the recording booth.

Louis had already been given a crash course in how to use the equipment. He'd met with multiple bigwigs in the industry, many of whom were interested in buying his songs for peanuts, or having him ghost-write for various artists. Phil was the only one Louis felt would not cheat him, and if that meant singing his songs himself first in order to sell them..

Phil motioned to Louis to start.

What would Lestat do?, Louis mused, then began to dramatize his performance.

"My lover   
Wanders down her violet way   
As soft as down, as juicy as a peach   
I'm smilin'   
Today will be the day   
My mortal bride will come within my reach   
She doesn't   
Even know my name   
She'll scream it out before the day is done   
And nothing will ever be the same   
My kiss is like a shadow on the sun   
I touch her, and watch her pretty eyes   
Turn cold to me, then hot with rage like fire   
I know, my dear, you're truly terrified   
The great unknown, the depth of my desire   
"Please let me live," my lover says to me   
"I'm young and full of dreams; just give me time"   
Old age will come and ravage your beauty;   
Your body and your soul could now be mine   
(We live beneath   
Let me show you, let me show you   
We live beneath   
Let me show you, show you now)   
I watch the tears run down her lovely face   
She knows not what it means to be my bride   
"Then choose another soul to take your place -   
I'll give you one more minute to decide."   
(We live beneath   
Don't deny me, don't deny me   
We live beneath   
Don't deny me, be my bride)   
But Death we are, and Death we've always been   
Each one of you our clammy hands must touch   
The underground is where I'll keep my queen   
YOU'VE got some time - but, hey, not very much

Louis listened to the instrumentals roll onwards after he finished vocalizing. Phil opened the door, poking his head in.

"All that fuss about not being able to sing, that was pretty good for a first take," he said.

Louis sniffed. "I said I DON'T sing, I never said I COULDN'T."

Phil rolled his eyes. "You creative types with your word games. Alright, fine. That was okay, but let's try... I dunno, toning it down a little? It was good, but sorta hammed up. Do a straight take."

The door closed once more, and Louis prepared to run through the damned thing again.

He could still see that girl, could taste her in his imagination. The words of Santiago, in character as Death, ran alongside the sung lyrics. He could hear both at once, and it didn't sound like chaos.

Louis fought it, hard, but Claudia invaded his thoughts, too. 

"Suppose Death had a heart to love and to release you?"

Santiago's voice, even after all this time.

His own voice nearly broke, but Louis held it together. The pain came through, but not the tears.

What would Claudia say about all of this?

"Monstrous. But beautiful."


	3. Chapter 3

Louis had sold his first song, and it had become a hit. "Death We've Always Been" was just the sort of vague, confusing, emotional trash-piece many youth loved to listen to, and it was gratifying, knowing that his misery was making so many others more depressed (which they enjoyed). So.. win-win?

Other songs followed, and most were successful, but nothing had topped his debut work. He'd put so much of his pain into his lyrics, hearing his work on the radio was like meeting himself in some parallel dimension.

Meanwhile, not so very far away, a familiar figure was perusing the buffet line, aka the patrons waiting to get into the latest trendy goth/BDSM/alternative club. Lestat was at his best and most agreeable immediately upon waking; after that, the hunger and loneliness started to creep in around the edges like water seeping in underneath the door of a storm-tossed ship. 

He liked this neighborhood, with its artsy types and its ladies (and gentlemen, and 'other') of the night. He felt less out of place here. Many people wore reproductions of clothing from his preferred era of the eighteenth century, albeit more sexualized versions of what he himself had worn or seen during his former life. Lestat was happy to be out, on the hunt, among people who romanticized the supernatural, inviting it into their lives. He would not disappoint.

Dance floors were always teeming with hot, writhing bodies. Taking the odd sip, a soucon in passing, was too easy. Fish in a barrel, some would say. Lestat was enjoying a slow, sensual draw from a highly intoxicated pink goth of indeterminate gender when the DJ began to play a new record.

Lestat noted the somber undertone of the instrumentals, keeping half an ear open for any sign of trouble. What he heard next stopped him mid-suck.

"Whiny... dark.. brooding.. It reminds me of - "

The DJ suddenly stopped the song, and Lestat wasn't sure whether to laugh with relief or to shout with indignation for it to resume. The record was flipped over, and the song began anew, only this time, the vocals were unmistakably Louis.'

"So, my little caged bird found his voice," Lestat wondered.

All other sound became nothing. Lestat stood alone, unmoving but moved, as Louis sang of his pain. No one else would ever understand the depth of that loss, or the horror of what Louis had witnessed.

Mortals often convinced themselves that songs contained hidden messages from the artist, or conveyed secret meanings from departed loved ones.

This was a siren call. Louis was hurting, lonely, hungry for companionship once more.

"Seducing me with a song, the dear fool."

As the track ended, Lestat emerged from his reverie, the pink goth trying to ask him something, Lestat pushing them rather roughly aside before heading out into the night. 

"I would've sung it more.. theatrically," Lestat decided, critiquing it. Nothing Louis did was perfect; nothing anyone did was perfect. "Still, Louis was never very keen on being camp."

There were only so many recording studios in the city; no doubt his old paramour was at that moment working on his next musical masterpiece.

Louis - HIS Louis! - enthralling countless humans with his words, weaving spiderweb spells and charms around their hearts, hypnotizing them.. Imagine the fortune! Imagine the power!

"Monstrous," Lestat muttered, in awe. "But beautiful."

That was Louis, and that was love.


End file.
